


Fitting Pieces

by Haley3



Category: Sanders Sides (Web Series)
Genre: (also there's a kiss), Creepy Paintings, Graphic Description of Corpses, M/M, Symbolism everywhere, TSS Fanworks Collective Secret Santa, and of violence too, creepier science, there's Remus so what did you expect
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-27
Updated: 2020-12-27
Packaged: 2021-03-10 17:15:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,348
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28300722
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Haley3/pseuds/Haley3
Summary: A man wakes up and his mind is a blank slate. The guy with him doesn't know anything either. They have no documents, no phones, nothing.Just a tiny little dice.There were three things wrong with his current situation.First he was in a river, trapped in chest-deep water, fully dressed, his back against a rock.Second, he had absolutely no memory of how he got there. He had never seen that place before, and no matter how much he kept looking around, searching for something familiar: he was still surrounded by simple gray rocks under a black sky.Third, there was an unconscious guy laying on him, his face immersed in water. Maybe dead - or soon-to-be dead, if he did not do something quickly.
Relationships: Dark Creativity | Remus "The Duke" Sanders & Logic | Logan Sanders, Dark Creativity | Remus "The Duke" Sanders/Logic | Logan Sanders
Comments: 23
Kudos: 75
Collections: TSS Fanworks Collective, TSS Fanworks Collective Discord Secret Santa





	Fitting Pieces

**Author's Note:**

  * For [alicat54c](https://archiveofourown.org/users/alicat54c/gifts), [thereibi](https://archiveofourown.org/users/thereibi/gifts).



> This is a gift for the wonderful @alicat54c, who isn’t just a great writer, but also a great artist. (Go check their artist's account @thereibi, if you don’t believe me). My dear, I’m so honored to be your Secret Santa and I really hope you like my small gift! I tried my best to make something nice for you <3
> 
> Of course it’s an Intrulogical because yes. And, since there’s Remus, there will be everything: sex, gore, violence, disturbing stuff, stupid jokes, description of violence and the whole jazz. You’re warned.

There were three things wrong with his current situation.

First he was in a river, trapped in chest-deep water, fully dressed, his back against a rock. 

Second, he had absolutely no memory of how he got there. He had never seen that place before, and no matter how much he kept looking around, searching for something familiar: he was still surrounded by simple gray rocks under a black sky. 

Third, there was an unconscious guy laying on him, his face immersed in water. Maybe dead - or soon-to-be dead, if he did not do something quickly.

He passed an arm behind the stranger's back and, with the other hand, raised his face above the water’s surface: the man’s eyes were closed, his wet hair stuck to the forehead. He wore eyeshadow and water had melted it into purple, black, and blue streams, which ran down his cheeks, nose and ended in his mustache. The skin, although pale and wet, still retained a rosy tint and was warm against his hand. A good sign: the man must still be alive.

"Sir?" He called, trying to overpower the roaring river with his voice. He also gave him a couple pats on the upper back. "Sir, can you hear me? Wake up."

Talking to him was the right choice: the stranger gave a jolt, which made the laces of his suit quiver. _Is he_ _regaining consciousness_ _?_

He gave the man two more pats, trying to shake his face too, while still supporting it with the other hand.

"Sir, can you hear me? Wake up."

The stranger gave a little shift.

"Sir..."

Before he could finish the sentence, the stranger opened his eyes, straightened the head, stretched his lips forward and splashed water on his face.

He squinted at that unexpected attack, and when he opened his eyes again, everything was covered in a damp veil, the edges distorted by water dripping from his glasses. With a sigh, he took them off and cleaned them in the river. 

The stranger, for his part, burst into a loud, shrill laugh.

"It was so funny!" He exclaimed. "I was just there pretending to be dead and you almost freaked out, I know you did! "

Without his glasses, the stranger was nothing more than a blurry black spot, crossed by a diagonal, smaller spot of bright green. He put his glasses on again and, although the stranger had acquired some edges, they were still distorted by the water drops on the lenses.

And his clothes were all wet, so he could not even dry his glasses.

He sighed again.

"Let's get out of the river," he said, standing up.

"Scared I’ll drown again?" asked the stranger, jumping up as well. He moved close enough for him to notice how wide the man’s smile was - too wide for a normal person - and how sharp his canines were - also too sharp for a normal person. His mustache, on the other hand, was just curled in two small o - just like a normal person, although a bit eccentric.

"You should wipe your face, sir," he warned him. "Your eyeshadow is all smudged."

"Awww, how cute you are!" The stranger gave him a wink. "First you worry about my life, then about my eyeshadow." He wiggled his eyebrows and his eyeshadow got even more smudged. "You know, there are other parts of my body that might need your attention."

"I would prefer to move to a dry place first," he insisted.

"As you want, hot stuff." The stranger jumped from a standstill and, by defying all the laws of physics, landed on the shore three meters from them.

He caught up with the guy, fording the river in a couple of steps. When he reached the right bank, the stranger raised his head from the ground and turned on one side to look at him: even though he hit the ground with his face, he had neither a scratch nor a wound.

"You should pay more attention to your safety."

"I’ve got a thick skin," he replied, resting his chin on one hand. "Scared to freak out again?"

"I didn't freak out," he said, climbing out of the river. Finally in a dry place, he squeezed his tie and did the same with his shirt sleeves. "If you hadn't woken up, the next step would’ve been to check your pulse: if there was no pulse, then it meant you were dead."

"I'm funny, I know. That's why we're friends."

"Are we?"

"Duh, of course! Otherwise why were we taking a bath together?" The stranger raised an eyebrow. "Unless you want to get wet in some other way."

"If you’re my friend, then would you be kind enough to tell me my name?" He ran a hand over the back of his neck. "I’ve probably hit my head when I fell into the river and now I have a momentary amnesia. Or at least I assume it's momentary, since I don't think I've suffered major trauma."

The stranger sat cross-legged in front of him.

"That's funny," he replied, "I thought _you_ would tell me my name."

He stopped rubbing his head.

"Don’t you remember your name either?"

"Nope." The stranger's face suddenly lit up, "Wait, does this mean we can give ourselves new names? Okay, then I'm Mr. Dick, last name Long. While you’re Isaac Cesar Yadick. So you can shorten it to I.C.! Mr. I.C. Yadick!" He giggled, before bursting into another shrill laugh.

He ignored the guy and rubbed his temples with one hand, trying to retrieve some of his lost memories. But his mind was a blank slate and everything was still unfamiliar.

Everything, except his companions in misfortune, who was shaking his head up and down in a very impractical attempt to dry his hair. There was something truly familiar in his bizarre and impractical black suit full of sequins, in the green sash across his chest, in the curled mustache, in the brown hair. He had seen them somewhere before.

Maybe they really were friends, as he had suggested. Or, at least, acquaintances.

"I think L has something to do with it."

The stranger stopped, his hair fell down on his face. He had a white streak, which cut his face in two halves.

"Lust!"

"It's not a word association game," he replied. "I just think my name starts with L."

"So mine starts with R!"

"It's not a competition either."

"RRRRRRRRRRRoar." The man circled him, nose up to smell him. "I could eat out your finger. Or your ass: it looks very juicy from here."

Of course, a document! He should have some documents with him. He could find out his name from that!

He checked all the pockets he had, but they were all empty. He felt his torso for other, hidden pockets: still nothing. It was a very inconsiderate move, to leave his house without a single document. 

"Do you have something in your pocket?" He asked, turning to R. "Documents, a piece of paper, anything?"

R reached into his pockets and his eyebrows rose to the hairline.

"Do you have something?" asked L. 

His eyebrows waved up and down.

"Is it a document?"

R took out a hand: it was closed in a fist.

"Guess."

"I hope it's something useful."

"It is!" R brought his clenched fist under his nose and opened his fingers.

There was a dice on his wet palm. A very normal 40-sided black die, with bright green numbers.

"Do you have anything else?"

"Nope!" R bounced from foot to foot. "Can I roll it?"

L shrugged.

"If you think it's good for something..."

Contrary to his expectations, it was.

As the dice hit the ground, the space around them changed. The black sky gave way to a blinding light, which forced L to cover his face with his arms. Behind the closed eyelids he heard R cheer, because the light was burning his retinas.

 _Impossible, it's not that_ _bright_.

He carefully opened his eyelids and lowered the arms, as his eyes adjusted to the new environment.

The first thing he noticed was that his glasses were clean again. He raised one hand to touch the frame and his gaze fell on the shirt’s sleeve: his clothes were dry too. An improvement, compared to his previous conditions.

However, his amnesia had not shown any improvement and he still had no idea where he was. The river had disappeared, as well as the rocks and the sky: he and R were in a room, surrounded by white walls, with warm yellow light shining through the huge windows. There was nothing outside, except that light. Just as there was nothing in the room except the white floor, white ceiling and white walls. 

The only touch of color was given by the paintings. Large and small, in frames of all shapes and from all historical periods. One glance at the wall on his left was enough to recognize Gustav Klimt's _The Tree of Life_ , _Where do we come from? What are we? Where are we going?_ by Paul Gauguin and Leonardo Da Vinci's _Vitruvian Man_ , displayed side by side. 

They must have ended up in the most disorganized museum of the world, because no curator with a minimum of experience would have made such a gross mistake, as to exhibit three very different artists side by side.

But perhaps there was a reason why such different paintings were placed that way: perhaps it was a _clue_ for them.

"Is it possible that we are painters?"

"Who cares!" R answered him. He was on the opposite side of the room, but his voice came as clear as if he were by his side. "But I know I like this one!”

L ignored the other paintings and sauntered towards him: R was sitting on the ground, cross-legged, in front of a triptych of paintings. His face was no longer a mask of dripping eyeshadow and wet hair: the eyeshadow was back on his lids and his dry hair was away from his face, except for an occasional thin single hair escaping the white streak.

L turned towards the work that caught the attention of his companion: it was a triptych that depicted three gray, humanoid figures, set against a burnt orange background.

The figure in the left panel was a limbless bust covered by a red cloth, seated on a table-like structure. It had rounded shoulders and an extremely long and thin neck, that ended with a round head bent forward, its features hidden behind a mop of dark hair.

The central figure was egg-shaped, with thin legs, a cloth to cover its eyes and a long neck ending in a snarling mouth, turned to the viewer.

The closest one was the figure on the right: it stood on a patch of grass and its neck also ended with a mouth, stretched open as if screaming.

"Ah," he commented, "Francis Bacon's _Three Studies for Figures at the Base of a Crucifixion_. A very interesting work. You know, since it was made in 1944, it has been wrongly considered a piece inspired by the Second World War. Actually, this is an analysis on violence and power and how Bacon himself related to these two aspects.”

L lifted a hand toward the central panel.

“When it was shown the first time, both public and critics were shocked. Critic John Russell described these figures as “ _images so unrelievedly awful that the mind shut with a snap at the sight of them_.” And writer Herbert Furst was so disturbed by it, he left the exhibition, because the " _red background made him think of entrails, anatomy or vivisection_ "." L explained, underlining his words with air quotes. "I personally consider Furst's reaction definitely too extreme. Entrails don’t have that orange color, but they vary from pale pink for intestines to brown for the liver. And orange blood doesn’t exist either: even dry, blood always maintains a reddish color, tending to brown."

He tilted his head to R and saw his eyes focused on him, wide open. The white light coming from the windows lit two green sparks in his pupils.

"I might’ve forgotten who you are, but _damn_ , I fucking like you."

L held out his hand.

"Try rolling that dice again. We might find some other clues to help us regain our memories."

R accepted his hand and, as he pulled himself to his feet, he dropped the die with the other. It rolled close to them and, like the previous time, the space around them disappeared, giving way to a whole new environment.

They were no longer in a room: they were balanced on a stone, while a river of lava flowed around them. L turned back: the river was running down the flanks of an erupting volcano. A plume of smoke was rising from the far peak, darkening the sky.

"Ooooh." R was bent on all fours, his face too close to the fire. "If I put a hand in, will the fire consume it? I put it on, take it out and bam, is it a skeleton’s hand?"

"It depends on how long you want to keep it in the lava." The tie was too tight around his neck: L loosened it, fanning himself with the other hand. "It's too hot here, there’s nothing useful, this place is dangerous and soon we’ll be thirsty and in danger, because the rock could crack or be submerged by lava."

"Oh I'm already thirsty," R replied, waving his eyebrows again.

"Let's not waste any more time, then," L urged him. "Dehydration is a serious problem and we must find a source of water. Roll again."

R took the dice, lifted it and dropped it in front of him. The dice fell back on the same face, only to lean slightly to one side, enough to show a new one.

They were back on a stone, but this time it was white and smooth. L stood first: they were on top of a pyramidal structure. Above them, a blue sky devoid of sun. There was a rectangular building behind him, decorated with bas-reliefs depicting monstrous figures, their wide open mouths showed rows of teeth. Above the door there was a human figure, with closed eyes, straight lips and a feather headdress.

_A Mayan temple._

L turned away from it. A few steps away there was a stone slab, on which a man was lying. His torso had been carved in the middle, his bowels sticking out still glistening with blood. More blood stained his brown skin, the stone, the floor, the cloth he wore to cover his genitals. He had nothing else on. L looked at his face: closed eyes and long, black, unadorned hair.

"Of course," he murmured. He passed the stone slab with the human sacrifice and approached the edge of the clearing: it was a step pyramid, each step wider than the previous one, the closer they were to the ground. In front of him, a protruding stairway.

" _Chichen Itza,_ " he said. He crouched down to touch one of the two balustrades. "You can't see it very well from here, but at the base of the staircase there are two snake heads. There’s something very interesting that happens to it in spring and autumn: in the late afternoon, the pyramid casts a series of triangular shadows against the balustrade that makes it look like a serpent is wriggling down the stair... case..."

The words got lost, something stirred in his mind. L stood still, waiting for that piece to click and make sense.

The snake. The Mayan Serpent. According to some scholars, it was a representation of the feathered-serpent deity, _Kukulcán_.

He blinked once too many and whatever that feeling was, it disappeared. No memory suddenly emerged. His mind was still a blank slate.

"The sacrifices..." His voice was unsteady, his vision blurred: it must have been because of the altitude. He cleared his throat. "In... in Mesoamerican cultures, it was considered normal and often even an _honor_ that only the best could undergo. People believed that a great sacrifice sustained the universe, since the gods themselves had sacrificed themselves first, to let humanity to live. Therefore, when they offered themselves as a sacrifice, they repaid in a small part that great debt that existed towards the gods.”

He straightened up.

"This, however, was especially true for Aztecs," he clarified. "Mayans weren’t so focused on sacrifice. And most of the sacrifices took place inside the temple, where the _chac mool_ was. Whoever wanted to offer themselves to the gods would lie there and let themselves be restrained by four priests, while a fifth removed their heart." He turned around. "Therefore that stone slab, however scenic, is not historically accura... what are you doing?"

R raised his head from the corpse. His face was covered in blood and he held a portion of intestine between his exposed teeth. Without looking away, he gave a yank, but the intestine did not break.

"I was a little peckish," he answered between his teeth, without letting go.

"Then it would be better to find cooked, edible food." L replied, crossing his arms. "A human being isn’t a healthy choice. Especially a human being left outdoors, at the mercy of insects and full of potentially infected blood."

R released his grip and the intestine fell back onto the open chest of the corpse.

"You're pretty calm after seeing me do something like that," he said. One of his eyebrows was raised in a curious expression. "Does nothing scare you?"

L looked around.

"I don't think so," he replied. "You have a dice that can change everything around us. That should scare me more, don't you think?"

"Well no, _I_ should scare you more!" R sat on the stone slab and pulled the intestine out of the corpse with both hands, to wrap it around his neck like a scarf. Then he pushed the corpse down, unrolling the entire intestine along with a portion of the liver. 

L looked from the corpse to R.

"We should recover our memory, not waste time here."

R dropped his shoulders and curled his lips into a sulky crease.

"Maybe I should open _your_ stomach," he said, "And use _your_ intestine as a scarf."

"In that case I would be dead, so who would you have to scare?"

R's sulky expression gave way to a broad, blood red smile.

"Fair enough," he admitted. Without coming down from the stone altar, he stretched out on its bloodied surface and reached out a hand to rummage through the corpse’s entrails. He pulled out the blood-covered dice and threw it.

The Mayan pyramid disappeared, just like the human sacrifice. They found themselves again in an enclosed space, in front of large windows overlooking a black ocean.

But that was not the simple black of a starless night. That was the black of intergalactic space, the deep black of the universe, with too distant stars to light up the night.

Yet, there was light. And it was enough to turn towards the window on the right, to realize what it was.

"A-ah!" L heard R cheer, behind him. "Now you _must_ be afraid! We’re on a space capsule and we’re falling into the most destructive thing of creation! And it's too late to go back!" he added, with a sing-song voice.

The black hole filled the space, obliterated any other light to leave only its own. A disk of incandescent light surrounded it and a band of the same light cut it in the middle, so bright that it distorted the faint glow of the distant stars.

"Hey," L heard R's voice approaching him. "Are you listening? Did the black hole make you...?"

Before he could say any other nonsense, L grabbed his arm and pulled him beside, so that he could see exactly what he was seeing too.

"Look here!" He exclaimed. His voice vibrated and those same vibrations ran through his body, making him want to bounce on the spot. Bizarre, but definitely not unpleasant. "That black you see isn’t the event horizon, but _the entire black hole_! Back _and_ forth! This is because photons don’t have mass, so they’re able to orbit very close to the black hole - do you know they aren't actually bending? They always go straight, but it’s _space_ that curves, because the black hole is so dense it _curves_ the space around it! And so, because space is curved, photons also curve. And if you could be there and be conscious - which you can't, but imagine it - you would be able to look straight ahead and see the back of _your own_ _head_!"

He pulled R closer to him, putting an arm around his shoulders to show him the center of the black hole.

"And look, do you see that light around the black hole? That's the accretion disk: it's made up of chunks of matter and photons that are still too far away to fall into the black hole. Because if you fall into a black hole you do not fall vertically, as on Earth, but in a downward spiral, still orbiting around it. And as you get closer to the center, gravity becomes so strong, that spaghettification occurs: in short, the particles of your feet are attracted more than those in your head, with the result that they’re broken into smaller and smaller parts, until all that remains of you is a single string of particles falling towards the black hole.”

L put a hand on the glass, tracing the outline of the band of light.

"And do you see that bright part that cuts the black hole in half? If we were facing the black hole, we wouldn’t see it: we would only see a ring of light, surrounding a completely black area. But we see that band in the middle and _tha_ _t’s_ the accretion disk. We’re not approaching the black hole from the front, but _from the side_. So do you know what the light we see above and below is? That's the light reflected from the _back of the accretion disk_! Those are photons from the part of the disk that is _behind_ the black hole, which pass _above and belo_ _w the black hole_ , reflecting the light! And so we can see it!" His voice trembled and he let out his breath in an ecstatic sigh. "It's so _perfect_!" 

He looked away from that view of cosmic grandeur and turned to R. R was not looking at the black hole, but at him. His eyes were wide open again, with two green sparkles shining in his pupils. And he was quiet. _Oddly_ quiet, given how much he liked to talk nonsense at every occasion.

L realized he still had an arm around his shoulders and that he had invaded R’s personal space. Oh, it must have been why he was so surprised.

"Do I go too fast?" L asked, letting him go. He also took a step to the side, just to reestablish the distance between them. “Did I talk too much?"

It was because of that. It was obviously because of that, because it was _always_ that. He had talked too much. As always, as usual. Ed R got bored. As always, as usual.

 _Like everyone else_ _._

The bizarre vibration died away, leaving his body numb. Something in his mind twitched, a memory tried to fit in.

"No."

R's voice scattered that fragment of memory. L blinked and his mind was still a blank slate. For once, it didn't bother him.

"I like to hear you talk," said R. He took a step forward, shortening their mutual personal spaces. "Your voice is just like that black hole: it attracts and destroys everything else."

R cupped his face with both hands. Under the deadly light of the black hole, his glinting eyeshadow was of the same shade of a galaxy, one about to be devoured. He smiled, and his sharp smile seemed to fit the situation too.

"And then," he added, with his usual joking tone, "I wouldn't mind being smashed by you."

 _It wouldn't be possible_ , thought L. _A human being is made up of incredibly hard muscles and bones, it would take superhuman strength to smash someone_.

But he did not give voice to that thought. Somehow, he knew it was not the right thought. And he knew that R did not mean that. It had to be a new meaning of the verb _to smash_ , one he did not know, maybe something slang.

And he wanted to know what it was, he wanted to ask R to explain. But his mouth did not open and the words did not reach his lips.

"We should roll the dice again," he finally said, looking away from both R's too bright eyes and the black hole's too bright light.

R did not answer, but a moment later L saw the dice roll to his feet.

As the space around them stabilized again, the first thing L saw was a giant octopus.

It was several meters away from him, a glass wall separating them. The octopus swam around some rocks, lifting grains of sand from the seabed as it hid in a small crack, protected by algae and reef-building corals. Above him, white sharks and a giant squid swam placidly. A peculiar choice, for an aquarium, to let three marine predators share the same tank.

L touched the glass wall and raised his head, trying to see the edge of the tank: there was no edge. Aside from the wall in front of him, there were no other walls above or on the opposite side. That was not a tank, then.

_Did we end up under the sea?_

The wall to his right also looked out on the same marine environment. But the one to his left was a simple wall made of wooden planks, typical of country houses. And the same applied for the wall behind him.

Furthermore, there was no furniture. The only thing inside the room was the statue of a nose. A quirky piece of modern art, no doubt.

He looked up and, on the ceiling, L found the last piece of furniture: it was a carefully made four-poster bed, with heavy emerald green velvet curtains surrounding it.

"What an odd place," he commented. He turned to look for R, expecting to see him do something silly again, but he just stood in the middle of the room, slowly spinning around.

"My..." he said.

"My what?"

"My room." Even his voice was strange, more serious than it had been up until that moment. "This is my room."

R moved towards the statue of the nose and gave it a push: although the statue was against the wall, the statue fell _into the_ wall, revealing two nostrils in which two small wood fires burned. 

"Interesting." L approached it and moved to the side: from a different angle, he saw the boards of the wall change, revealing that what looked like a wall was actually a corridor, wider than expected. "An optical illusion. And the nose is actually a fireplace. Ingenious."

R got on all fours and started to touch the floor all around him. A tile gave way under his hand and a portion of the floor collapsed. A pair of scarlet lips emerged from the hole and parted: a large pink tongue unrolled out, arched to form a wave. Or rather: a chaise longue, with the upper lip as a headrest and the lower lip as a footrest.

_Really ingenious._

L reached out to touch the tongue: it was just like a human tongue, moist and spongy to the touch. Not ideal for relaxing, but R certainly did not care about features such as the ergonomics of his furniture. Also because he had a bed on the ceiling and who knows how he slept in it, without gravity making him fall.

He turned to R, the question already on the tip of his tongue, but he did not see him near the chaise longue. R had entered the corridor and was walking, the black and green of his suit contrasting with the illusion given by the wooden planks.

Suddenly R stopped and turned to the right. He reached out to where there was nothing and pushed, opening an invisible door. L caught up with him and crossed the threshold.

They found themselves on the top of a hill whipped by the wind, which made the grass rustle under their feet. From that elevated position they could see a clear river at the base of the hill, separating it from six other hills that rose on the opposite bank. On one of them there were small buildings, houses of stone and wood with no human presence around.

L took a step forward to reach the edge of the hill and felt something under his shoe. He shifted his foot and saw an object glistening in the grass: he bent to pick it up.

It was a golden brooch, an eagle with spread wings in front of a laurel wreath. In the center, four letters stood out: SPQR.

"“ _Senatu_ _s_ _PopulusQue Romanus_ _”:_ The Senate and People of Rome," he read. " Considering it comes from your room, it must be a clue about you. Maybe you’re a Roman citizen."

He glanced at the hills.

"Rome was built on seven hills," he continued, "And, considering the progress on construction, that must be the oldest settlement. Maybe you’re one of the first inhabitants. Or maybe you are _the_ first inhabitant."

L jumped up, clutching the brooch.

"Maybe you’re not only the first inhabitant, but you are the one who _founded_ it. Maybe R is really the initial of your first name, because you’re not a simple inhabitant, but you are the _founder_ of Rome. You are Romulus!"

"No," was R’s serious, too serious, answer. "I’m not Romulus."

L turned around: R got his back to him, his face turned to a point where the grass was taller. He approached him to take a closer look.

A man’s corpse was lying in the tall grass. A young man, with a tunic tied at the waist by a lace and sandals on his feet, his eyes open and glassy, a dagger stuck in his chest.

"I am the unloved brother," said R. "I am Remus." 

The dice fell from his hand and rolled to the dead twin's body.

L raised his head: the wind was ten times stronger than before and was pushing him back so fiercely, he had to keep one arm raised to shield his eyes from it.

He saw nothing around him, everything was covered by a sea of thick fog. Under his feet there was gray stone with frosty patterns. They must have ended up on top of a mountain.

There was a chasm in front of him. L took a step forward: the fog did not cover that point, which remained a black abyss whose end could not be seen.

And, on the other side of it, Remus stood, watching him.

"Remus!" L called, over the howl of the wind. "Jump!"

Remus kept looking at him. He did nothing, he said nothing. He did not even have that green sparkle shining in his pupils. He was just standing still, with limp arms hanging by his side.

It was not like him. He was always on the move, swinging and circling around him, doing stupid things, talking nonsense. He must have been sick, there was no other reason. He must have caught a cold because of that river. It had to be...

"You know," Remus spoke and the wind stopped howling around them, "I don't think we're friends."

His tone was wrong. His words were falsehoods. And even the expression was not the right one, with his eyes down, looking at something on the ground. There was nothing on the ground, just more stone. There was no point in looking at the ground. There was no point in R not even looking at him, while saying those things.

"I’m not like you," continued R, "I’d better go."

And, without further ado, he turned on his heel and walked away.

L blinked and Remus was still walking away. He blinked again and Remus kept walking, away from the cliff and away from him, without looking back.

"This is absolutely _preposterous_!" He yelled, stomping his feet. "What does that even mean? And where should I go from here? And where are _you_ going?! We don't know anything about this place! We don't know where we are! What are we supposed to accomplish, by splitting up?!"

Remus ignored him and kept walking.

"Remus!" L shouted again. "Come back!"

Remus kept ignoring him.

The vibration was back, but it was not as pleasant as before. L brought both hands to his head, but still felt a tremor rising inside him. It was the stupidest thing he had ever witnessed, the most _ridiculous_ and _wrong_ decision and where the hell did Remus think he was going? They were on top of a mountain! There was nowhere to go!

_This is absolutely ridiculous!_

He had to stop Remus. He had to stop that stupid idiot, who wanted to follow his _stupid_ head full of _stupid_ nonsense, instead of listening to the voice of reason. He would have talked some sense into him, no matter what. He did not want to listen? Well, L would have _forced_ him to listen!

And if Remus still did not want to reach him, then it would have been L to come to him.

L clenched his fists, ran and, with a scream, jumped over the chasm.

It was too far away and he was not fit enough, but his foot managed to touch the edge, just for a moment. Then gravity got the better of him and pulled him down.

L stretched his arms forward: his nails scraped against dirt and ice, unable to find a grip on the ground, until his palm hit a protruding rock. L grabbed it with both hands and the sudden stop to his fall made his body oscillate without control.

He tried to stop himself, but there was _nothing_ around to serve as a support. He was just suspended above a bottomless abyss, a small rock was all that separated him from falling into it.

"Remus!" He shouted. His fingers ached from the effort of bearing his weight: he tried to find more grips on the ground with his forearms, but the icy surface did not help. He tried to find a foothold, but the rock wall was smooth and his shoes skidded across its surface. He would lose his grip very soon... and what would happen to him, then? And to Remus?

He opened his mouth to call him again but, before the words came out of his throat, Remus appeared, leaning over the edge of the precipice. He looked at him from above, as if they had never seen each other before.

"Remus!" L tried to push himself up, but his arms were shaking just like his fingers. "Help me!"

He let go the rock with one hand and tried to lift it. But Remus was faster: he dropped to his knees, grabbed L’s wrist and, in one fluid motion, stood up and lifted him over the abyss, until their eyes were at the same level.

Remus' eyes were shining with that green sparkle again. But it was a different green spark this time: it did not shone and flicker, but it was a steady glare, a green laser in the middle of an unfazed expression.

His arm was outstretched and L was too far off the ground to reach it with his foot. It was obvious what Remus wanted to do.

"You’ll let me fall,” L told him. It wasn’t a question.

"Yes," Remus replied. He did not sound sad or angry. It was as much an observation as his previous one.

L took a deep breath and words just poured out of his mouth.

"Fall with me, then."

Remus' expression did not change, but for a full second he stood perfectly still. Then he put his foot on the edge of the precipice and took a step forward, letting himself fall into the void with him.

They fell together, at ever increasing speed. L grabbed Remus' sash with one hand and his collar with the other. Remus released L’s wrist and brought his hand around L’s back. The other closed around the dice, rolled it in his fist and opened the palm between them: the dice leaned on one edge, then fell back to show a new face.

And they landed on the grass, holding on to each other.

L slipped out from Remus' grasp and stood first. His sense of direction was still unsettled and his legs were shaking, but there was solid, firm ground beneath him, trees surrounding them and the rustle of a peaceful forest all around, so he could breathe a sigh of relief.

"Next time, please warn me, before making too rash decisions," he said calmly, shaking off ground and dry leaves from his clothes. "Nevertheless, I must note that you really have excellent reflexes: rolling the dice while falling was a decent idea, albeit poorly executed. Considering the depth of that abyss, it probably didn't even have a end and we would’ve kept falling forever. Or at least for a very long time, before reaching it."

He straightened his tie and, out of the corner of his eye, L caught a black and green spot flashing towards him. Before he could move, Remus was on top of him and dragged him to the ground, one hand holding his shirt, his raised fist aimed at his face. L avoided it and tried to push Remus away: Remus dragged him and they rolled together, in a jumbled mess of legs and missing hits.

"What _the hell_ are you doing?" screamed L, parrying another punch. "Stop!"

"You don't understand!" Remus shouted, getting back on top of him. "You have _no idea_ how dangerous I am!"

"This is preposterous, you..."

"I’m not just sexual jokes and funny reactions!" His shrill voice drove over the entire forest. "I’m _the abyss_. I can pierce your legs with my nails, grab your femurs and tear them off your body! I can take your nails between my teeth and pull them off one by one! I can smash your glasses between my teeth and sink the splinters into your eyes and make them explode until blood and fluids stream down your face. And then the ribcage smashed with a hammer and the bones that break and are so sharp I can slit a goat’s throat and I would make its blood drip on your corpse until it covers it and I tie the goat, no a rabbit with barbed wire, I open stomach and I put in and I _presspresspress_ and gastric juices that overflow, burned hands and I tear them in bites and I replace them with yours and an eye stuck in the heart, cut it in the middle and _splorch_ I put an eye in the eye and..."

The sounds that came out of his mouth were regurgitates, his words had lost structure, form and syntax. Remus' eyes were wide open, staring at L without seeing him, with narrow pupils animated by that steady green glow.

And, looking into those pupils, L knew.

 _Clack_.

It was not a memory, but rather the piece of a puzzle that found its place and, suddenly, everything made sense.

It made sense that his companion was so chaotic and savage. It made sense that his gaze was crazy and fixed, that he was throwing up images that were considered disturbing. It made sense that he was nothing more than a tangle of destructive instincts.

It all made sense, because Remus was chaos incarnate.

_“I’m not like you.”_

No, he was not. And, by knowing this, L felt no fear. He had no reason to be afraid of Remus, because chaos just needed an outlet. Chaos was like water that did not know where to pour, it was a ball of yarn whose end had to be found.

It was just part of an equation to solve.

L reached out and grabbed Remus' wrist. As if that gesture had pressed a switch, Remus interrupted his erratic outburst.

"You don't know who you're dealing with either," L said. "Do you think I can't keep you at bay? Do you really think I can't do it?"

Remus' dazed expression gave way to furrowed brows and bared teeth. He threw a punch, growling, and L deflected it, by sliding Remus's wrist against his left forearm. He grabbed Remus’ wrist with his right hand, held his arm still with the left and, with a swing of the hips, he pushed him to the ground.

"You won't hit me," he said, "Because you don't _want_ to hit me. Because we’re friends."

"We’re not friends!"

"Falsehood." Remus threw another punch and L deflected it again. "It’s true that there are many kinds of friendship, but in each of them there’s love, mutual understanding, enjoyment of each other's company and the people involved are able to be themselves or to make mistakes, without fear of being judged by the other. Also, we clearly share passions and hobbies like art, universe and history. Even your room showed clear references to surrealist paintings, as well as an obvious passion for natural environment.”

With a sudden jump, Remus came back on top again and aimed at his neck with both hands. Before he could reach him, L slipped his arms between Remus’ and spread them out. Unbalanced, Remus leaned forward: before he could fall on him, L slipped away from under him, then pushed the other man to the ground, with the weight of his whole body.

Remus stirred beneath him, struggling to get himself free. L pinned him to the ground, pressing one leg against his back, reached into his trouser pocket and pulled out the dice, which he raised between thumb and index finger.

Remus scratched the ground with his fingernails, growling. He turned his head to the side and looked at him, with only one bloodshot eye. His expression was even more deranged than before, his pupil reduced to a dot as black as the abyss. 

It was pointless. What was the use of trying to scare someone who could not be scared?

"Personally I enjoy your company, despite the number of nonsense you say and rash decisions you make," L told him. "And I'm not judging you for who you are or what you did. Just like I don't care if we weren't friends before: we are now."

Remus managed to prop himself up on the ground and, with a scream, pulled himself up. L lost his grip on him and rolled away. He turned on his back just in time to see Remus jumping at him, teeth bared, hands outstretched and nails ready to scratch. L pulled his legs to the chest and, as soon as Remus was on top of him, pushed him away.

Remus fell onto his back. L stood up and Remus had already reached him, snarling, one hand raised. L pushed it away one more time. 

"You can keep going on as long as you want," he said, as serious as always. "Nothing you’ll do will hurt or keep me away. None of the images you evoke can scare me. You can destroy everything around us, if you want, but I will just need one speck of life, to give meaning to everything again."

And without a reason, out of nothing, in the most _chaotic_ way, Remus slid his other hand behind L’s neck, pulled him closer and kissed him.

The impact was confused, weird, _tumultuous_. It was teeth and tongue and lips against his own and Remus’ mustache tickling his upper lip and that warm hand behind his neck and another at the base of the back that pulled him even closer, that wanted him, that _sought_ him.

So L put his hands on Remus’ arms and let himself be held by chaos because, really, there was nothing to fear. Because Remus would never hurt him. Because chaos just needed order.

_“I’m not like you.”_

L tried to pull back to catch his breath, but Remus caught his lower lip between his teeth, before they could separate. He did not sink his teeth into the flesh, but nibbled it, gentle and firm, in a silent request.

And if chaos wanted him, he would not run away.

So L closed his eyes and surged forward again. His hands found their natural place on Remus' shoulder blades and L held him, just as tight as Remus was holding him. Because without yarn, L did not have a thread. Because without water, he was just an empty vase.

 _Clack_.

And if Remus was water, then Remus was able to create everything. Just like he made the museum, the volcano, the Mayan pyramid, the black hole, the ancient Rome, the abyss and that forest, chaos could create anything.

And if L held the thread of chaos in his hands, then Remus' creation might have been what they needed.

The ground shook beneath his feet, air vibrated against his skin. Remus was warmer under his fingers, against his body, in his mouth. He felt his power pressing against him, like a raging river. But L was the dam and the river could crash against him, because he _knew_ how to direct it.

And so he welcomed it, directed Remus' power, and the world around them stopped shaking.

When they parted, the sun was back.

They were surrounded by an endless lawn of green grass. Each strand was made of a vivid emerald color and the light struck them one by one: it was so intense that it seemed each strand had a tip made of gold.

Without taking his hands off Remus' back, L turned to the right: several meters from them, in that vast green field, there was a tree. Its broad foliage was typical of a maritime pine, but the shape resembled that of an oak, while the leaves had the same bright green typical of ginkgo.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Remus looking around just like him. His hands were still on L, one at the base of his back and the other behind his neck, the hot tip of Remus’ thumb caressing his earlobe.

A cool breeze blew towards them, stirred the sequins on Remus' dress, waved L's tie. The tree leaves showed even greener reflections. The grass blades blew in the wind, giving the illusion of tiny, golden snakes slithering through the grass.

They let each other go at the same time and turned to the tree. Their fingers sought each other again, knuckles touching and skin brushing, before they finally intertwined, as L and Remus walked towards it.

He could have asked Remus where they were but, in a way, he already knew. And, for some bizarre, chaotic reason, it made sense that they were there. Just as it made sense that no matter how much L looked around, there was nothing else in that meadow up and beyond the horizon, except the tree towards which they were moving.

He looked away from the surrounding landscape and brought his gaze back to the tree: there was no one among the branches. The wind blew again and the grass swayed, making those golden lights flicker. It looked like hundreds of yellow eyes were following them, winking in the grass.

"He's always watching," Remus said. It was an observation and, in a way, that too made sense.

Upon reaching the tree, they let each other go. The branches were no longer empty, as they looked like from afar, but overflowing with blue fruits. One of the branches was just the right height, the fruit ready to be picked. L reached out and took it: it was small and round, a familiar cobalt blue that whispered in his mind.

He turned to Remus, the small fruit in the palm of his hand. Remus answered with another of his sharp-toothed smiles.

"A blueberry?" He chuckled. "How freaky!"

L looked from the tree to the fruit, then back to Remus.

"I thought this was..."

"Nowhere in the Bible it’s specified that the fruit of knowledge is an apple," Remus reminded him. "The fruit of knowledge can be anything."

L looked down at the little blueberry.

"Blueberries contrast cellular aging and help the immune system," he said. "They’re full of vitamins and minerals, they help heart, digestion, eyesight and reduce blood pressure.”

He looked at Remus, who shrugged with a smile.

"Sounds like a very good fruit of knowledge, for me." He raised a hand towards him. "Eat it."

"What’s the fruit of knowledge for you?" asked L. He stretched out the hand on which he had the blueberry and Remus put his own underneath.

As the fruit fell from L's hand into Remus', it flickered for a moment, as if it was just a hologram. It lasted less than a heartbeat, and then a different fruit fell into Remus’ hand, large and round, so ripe to show its inside full of shiny red seeds.

"A pomegranate," commented L.

"Yep."

"Some scholars say the Garden of Eden must have been somewhere in the Middle East," L told him. "So the fruit could very well have been a pomegranate, since the plant is indigenous to Iran."

His gaze fell on the red inside.

"According to Greek mythology, Persephone ate six pomegranate seeds when she was brought to the Underworld by Hades," he continued, "And whoever ate the fruits of the underworld, could no longer leave that place. So it was decided that she would spend six months - six like the six seeds she ate - in the underworld with Hades, while the other six would be spent on the surface with her mother Demeter. This was the way Greeks explained the changing of the seasons: the six months of Persephone in the Underworld represented autumn and winter, while the six on the surface represented spring and summer."

"You've forgotten the most important feature of the pomegranate, hotspot," Remus said, waving the fruit. "It makes dicks hard."

L felt the corners of his mouth twist into a smile.

"I agree that’s a very peculiar fruit," he admitted, "Linked to history, myth and with beneficial properties." His gaze lingered again on the red seeds. "If you take off one seed and give it to me, once it touches my hand it would turn back into a blueberry or would it remain a pomegranate?"

Contrary to what he expected, Remus did not answer. He just handed him the fruit. His smile was no longer too broad and sharp, with his lips raised to reveal the canines: it was a tight-lipped smile with low eyebrows.

"Eat it," he said. It was a simple sentence again. Though there was no steady green shine in his gaze, L felt as if he were suspended over the abyss one more time.

"Eat it with me," he said.

For a full second, Remus stood perfectly still. Then he shook his head.

"I don't need it," he replied, "You’re Logos. You’re the owner of knowledge."

"Knowledge without creation is useless. It ends in itself."

Remus laughed and shook his head again. He took L’s hand and let the pomegranate fall from his own: as soon as the fruit touched L's palm, it became a blueberry again.

"No need to be Persephone and get stuck with me," he said, still with those low eyebrows, "We’re friends, right? I won't judge you for what you’ll do after."

L looked at the fruit, then at Remus, who gave him a short smile.

He brought the blueberry to his lips.

"I never did," were the last words he heard from Remus, "Why should I start now?"

Three weeks had passed.

After biting the fruit of knowledge, Logan had woken up in his bed. The bedside alarm clock read 7:58. He knew he was Logan Sanders, he knew he was the embodiment of Thomas Sanders' Logic, he knew that, besides him, there were six other metaphysical beings in Thomas' mental space.

And he knew that the alarm would go off in two minutes.

“ _Hi, Logan! I'm trying to clean my room! Again!_ _”_ Patton greeted him when Logan sank into his room. He had the usual adorable smile on his face and his arms were full of notebooks and photographs, as he hummed old songs between his lips. He had not held him back, nor had he asked for his help. “ _I 'm very busy now, but maybe I'll see you later, what do you think?_ _Just for_ _a quick read?_ "

“ _Shoo nerd, I_ _’m making_ _art!_ ”, Roman had chased him away, performing a pirouette. In one hand he had a palette, in the other a brush and, in front of him, there was a painting as tall as he was: the subject was himself, portrayed as Hamlet, with Yorick’s skull in his hand. It was so strikingly perfect, it looked more like a mirror, rather than a portrait. “ _Still here? I need silence and peace!_ "

“ _Sup, L,_ _it’s_ _for that book you lent me, right?_ _”_ Virgil sat cross-legged on the bed, surrounded by crumpled papers. On the bedside table there was a bottle of ink, in his hand he held a quill. The state of his dark circles and the black of his makeup expressed nothing too alarming, compared to the usual level of anxiety. “ _I'm just trying to write a sonnet. It's nothing special, I'm not even that good. Maybe I'll come and bring the book back to you later,_ _‘_ _kay?_ "

“ _Good morning, Logan._ _C_ _offee?_ _”_ Janus greeted him, by pushing a cup towards him. Impeccable as always, the gloves tightly closed, the capelet straight on his shoulders, the hat pulled down on the head, the usual suave smile on his face. “ _I_ _would be absolutely_ thrilled _to_ _listen to_ _you babbling for hours, but_ _you know how it works: five minutes, then you must leave._ _Unc_ _onscious’ calls might be too appealing for little curious sides like yourself.”_

When Janus showed him the door, the reflection of light in his golden eye gave Logan the impression that the deceitful side was addressing him a small wink.

It had to be just an illusion dictated by light.

" _Hey, Logan,_ " Thomas had greeted him, lying on the couch with a plate on his chest. For once he was not scarfing down fries, but he was eating a sliced orange, as he watched _Parks and Recs_ for the sixteenth time. Still indulging in useless activities, but at least he was feeding himself something nutritious. “ _Everything_ _’s_ _ok?_ _Wanna_ _see the bloopers with me?_ "

They had seen them together and nothing had gone wrong. Thomas had not asked him where he had been, nor had he given the slightest sign he knew what had happened to him. It seemed that no one had noticed anything, as if that bizarre experience was all just a product of Logan’s imagination.

But it was not possible, because he was not the embodiment of the creative spirit. He _directed_ the creative power, by giving it purpose.

For that reason, once he returned to his room, he started to look for answers. And, three weeks after eating the fruit, Logan sank in Remus' room.

For a moment, he thought he was in the wrong place. But no other room could have had doors on the ceiling, a whale carcass decomposing in the middle of the room, and walls made of skin. There was only one side who could have done that. And, apparently, he liked to change his room once in a while.

That was how creativity worked, after all.

Logan touched one of the walls, but it was just firm, thick human skin. So the most logical thing he could do, was reaching the doors on the ceiling.

He approached the whale carcass: parts of the bones were exposed, the skin falling apart with a deep, rotten smell. A ladder was stuck on its side, half inside the carcass and half outside, its steps covered in ambergris. Placed as it was, Logan could have easily reached the door in the middle of the ceiling.

It was obvious and logical, so logically and obviously it was the wrong choice.

_Chaos doesn’t make sense._

He ignored the ladder and ventured inside the carcass instead. As soon as he slipped in, the rotten flesh disappeared and Logan founded himself on a lake, surrounded by willows and water trees. Above him, the sun cast green reflections on the water, broken by the flickering of small silver fish.

Remus was there, crouched on the lakeshore. Even from behind, it could not be anyone but him, in that black suit with green highlights and the bright green sash.

Logan reached him. The grass rustled under his feet, but Remus did not turn around. Even when Logan stopped to his right, Remus gave no sign of acknowledging his presence.

But Logan knew Remus saw him, perhaps ever since he'd walked into his room. He just knew, just as he just knew many other things.

_"You're Logos. You'r_ _e the owner of knowledge_ _."_

"According to Greek mythology, Lethe was one of the five rivers of the underworld," Logan said, looking up towards the opposite shore. "The souls who drank its waters forgot everything about their past earthly life and were ready for a new reincarnation. I suppose that, having fallen into it, we must have drunk its waters too. Hence the amnesia."

Logan turned his gaze to Remus: he was still looking at the lake.

"There are only two things I don't understand," he continued, "Why Lethe and why you had a dice in your pocket that can change the space around."

Remus shrugged.

"Because I could do it," he replied, "I can create anything I want, so I created Lethe."

"And what about the dice?"

Another shrug.

"I don't know." Remus raised an eyebrow, along with a corner of his mouth. "Does it have to make sense?"

Logan nodded. Right, it was chaos who he was talking with. Chaos did not pretend to make sense. It was Logos’ job to find a meaning, not for Chaos to explain itself.

He crouched next to Remus.

"You wanted to test yourself," he said. "You wanted to see if you were more powerful than Roman. So you created two things that Roman would never do: a river that could have dire consequences on anyone - including yourself - and a dice that contains a small copy of your creative power.”

"Roman's imagination is boring." That little smile again, framed by curled mustache. "I spice things up."

A fish darted out of the water, breaking the reflections of light. Now that Logan noticed it, the water was too green and gelatinous to be just water. Knowing Remus, more likely it was jelly.

Logan reached into his pocket and pulled out the dice. It was as perfect as the first time he had seen it, black with bright green numbers. The feeling of Remus' back pressed under his knee still hesitated on his skin, he still remembered when he pushed him to the ground and took the dice out of his pocket. 

Evoked by that memory, other images followed: Remus' bloodshot gaze, his teeth bared as he charged a punch, his hand sliding behind Logan’s neck.

"I found it on me," Logan said only. He turned the dice between thumb and forefinger: it was so black that the light did not even create a reflection on its surface. Just like a little black hole.

He turned to Remus: he was still looking at the lake. Even though his eyes were focused on the bright reflections, Logan still felt them on him.

He handed Remus the dice.

"Would you like to try another roll?"

Remus turned, his eyes on the dice. He looked up at Logan, back at the dice and back again at him.

"Really?" he asked, an arched eyebrow. His tone was skeptical.

"Really."

"Don’t you ask me to destroy Lethe first?"

"If the dice was limited to forty visible faces, of course I would," Logan replied. "The chance that such an event would occur again would be 0.025 or 2.5%. A percentage too high to risk."

His gaze fell back on the dice, on its perfect harmless appearance.

"But since the power of the dice is a copy of yours, it’s unlimited. Which means that no matter what side the dice will show, the outcome will always be different. Consequently, the chance that your roll will cause us to fall again into Lethe is so infinitesimal, as to make the recurrence of such event very unlikely.”

Logan allowed himself a brief smile.

"And even if such event were to occur again," he added, "We will be able to solve it as we did the first time."

Remus stared at him, without blinking. The green reflections of the light on the jelly lake created emerald shadows on his cheekbones, made his eyeshadow shine with new lights. Seen up this close, it really looked like a small galaxy, with its perfect mix of chaos and order.

Logan handed him the dice again. To bring order, it was necessary to create some chaos first. And no one could do it better than the embodiment of chaos himself. 

A green light twinkled in the bottom of Remus' pupils. His lips rose again in one of his gloating smiles, all sharp teeth and curled mustache.

Then he took the dice from Logan’s hand and threw it.

**Author's Note:**

> This is Francis Bacon's Three Studies for Figures at the Base of a Crucifixion (https://www.tate.org.uk/art/artworks/bacon-three-studies-for-figures-at-the-base-of-a-crucifixion-n06171). Sorry not sorry for the nightmare material, but when I saw it, I instantly said “THIS is something Remus would like”.
> 
> References about the black hole are directly taken for this amazing video (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zUyH3XhpLTo&t=2s)
> 
> While Remus’ room has been inspired by surrealist paintings and especially by this amazing room in Dalì’s museum (https://www.archdaily.com/894658/how-surrealism-has-shaped-contemporary-architecture/5afcefb2f197ccb203000029-how-surrealism-has-shaped-contemporary-architecture-photo): you have to look at it from an elevated position and you will see this amazing optical illusion.
> 
> All other informations are taken from Wikipedia/Youtube/our lord and saviour Internet. And from my memories about greek mythology.
> 
> For any other questions, you can ask here in the comments or on my Tumblr (https://beauty-and-passion.tumblr.com/). I like to babble a lot, so beware.
> 
> Also, thank you in advance for every comment and every kudos, they all mean a lot to me <3 And please, if there’s any typo or any mistake, let me know. Your help is precious and I can’t thank you enough for that <3
> 
> EDIT: Someone did this amazing masterpiece, please look at it! https://waokevale.tumblr.com/post/638870832124444672/heres-a-fanartposter-thingy-dedicated-to  
> And, since you're there, go check also waokevale's tumbrl for more amazing works, they're so talented! <3


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